St Jerome’s Laneways Festival

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A one day festival on a Sunday seems like rather a strange idea for an Englishman. Australian’s do have a penchant for Sunday drinking in the Sun that we English seem to be confused by, well, I do. I hardly used to leave the house on Sundays, because Sky Sports would tell me it was ‘Super Sunday’ and I’d be hungover so watch and wait to see if they were right. They usually weren’t, but I would still sit in front of the TV and watch (up to) three football matches, cook a roast and then watch a film before turning in. Standard Sunday, not exactly Super, like yesterday was.

If I were running a one day festival it’d be on a Saturday, so everyone could go out afterwards, to post festival DJ sets and parties, leaving Sunday for hangovers dealt with in the comfort of your own bed, rather than sat in an uncomfortable swivel chair staring at a monitor trying to muster up some kind of motivation to do the job that allowed you to spend so much money just the day before on enjoying yourself. It somehow felt unfair that Melbourne got that, the after parties you could attend without concern for your wellbeing in the office the following morning, just like it seems it’s unfair they are getting Uni Qlo and H&M. Still, Sydney is getting a Marks & Spencer’s, so instead of spending money on clothes, I’ll be spending it on Percy Pigs and Fizzy Fish. But, I digress, back to yesterday.

As what seems to be ‘the norm’ for most activities I do on a weekend, I failed to properly prepare, waking up tired and hungover from the previous night’s festivities, which had taken a while to get going as I was overcoming the hangover and tiredness from the night before that’s festivities. “At least I have an active social life” I thought as I dragged myself out of bed and made some lunch to line my stomach and give me the energy required to make it over to Rozelle. The thing with me and hungover decision making is that I am terrible at it. I have considered crowd sourcing my decisions in times like this, but when it comes to making the decision as to whether to crowd source a decision (asking FaceBook or Twitter ‘friends’), I can’t make a decision. It’s a horrible snowballing spiral of a disaster and a sentence with far too many ‘decisions’ in.
I spent a good 40mins deliberating whether to get a taxi or take public transport. Knowing the latter would be expensive and the former a potential sweaty nightmare which would only be slightly less expensive. I opted for the sweaty nightmare, as penance for my previous night’s ill deeds (nothing more sinister than tequila shots), but failed at the second hurdle and ended up getting a cab instead of my connecting bus. However, said cab ended up costing as much as it would have done if I’d got it from home, and I arrived at Laneways 45mins later than Google had told me I would arrive if I had done the whole thing on Public Transport. It nearly broke me, but the sun, the sound of music and people in a joyous mood walking towards the entrance lifted my spirits, as did the thought of that first thirst quenching beer.

Surprisingly easily I found my friends, with Kate making me feel slightly better about being hungover as she was similarly feeling the pain from the previous night. She’d had Alica to nurse her better, take her to breakfast and make her decisions for her, and I hadn’t even managed to make myself a coffee before leaving, even though I’d boiled the kettle twice.

We headed over to the main stage area for what was going to be for many, the ‘song of the festival’, and after being crowned Triple J’s Number One in the Hot 100, Australia’s song of the summer. Vance Joy, the first person to ‘win’ the number one spot without having released an album, and the first person I’ve seen completely suck at an Australian festival (note. This was my first festival and he was the first band I saw). He quite literally and figuratively sucked the joy out of me. I had been picked up by a delicious steamed pork bun, a beer and (for alliterational purposes) banter, but he brought me back to earth with a bang. His voice was all over the show, he then admitted to the crowd that he wasn’t ‘the greatest guitarist’ before messing up a song half way through and having to spend a moment composing himself before kicking it off again. He just looked a bit uncomfortable on the stage being adored. Maybe the weight of expecation felt heavy on his shoulders. The final nail in what I hate to say could be the coffin of his career is that he messed up some chords on his ‘hit’ song and it seemed to me maybe he messed up some lyrics? I guess the rocket trajectory his career took after being the song on an advert for insurance was too fast. I hate writing bad reviews, I honestly wish him well, he’s probably a nice person, but when compared to who he shared a stage and a festival billing, he just wasn’t up to scratch.

Not to be put off, Frightened Rabbit were up next. I loved ‘The Midnight Organ Fight’, was possibly kind of obsessed by it, but I tempered my anticipation and excitement, I shouldn’t have. Coming on and saying ‘you’re going to hate us, we’re fat and have beards’ then bemoaning the heat immediately endeared them to me, and without question, the rest of the crowd. I got goosebumps when they played ‘Fast Blood’ and was taken back to driving my car to work in cold wet mornings through East London and into Essex, a gaping juxtaposition to the scorching sun that was beating down on me. It was over too soon, as most good things are. I don’t have tickets, or the additional monies available to buy off a tout to see their solo show, and while not envious, I am filled with a burning jealousy at all those going. “Next time…” I thought to myself as they exited stage left “there’s always a next time”.

Daughter were up next, we went from one stage to another, and from Scots to Swedes in the Sydney sun. Strange. I hate being descriptionally lazy, (spellcheck says that’s not even a word) and it’s probably one of my most overused words when describing certain bands, but they were ethereal. The sound was amazingly full and clear, even in the scolding sun which required me to reapply sunscreen, I felt like their sound wrapped me in a blanket of musical warmth. It was lovely. Then a quick food/booze run left me standing at the top of the hill looking down across the masses as they launched into ‘Youth’ which was easily my favourite. Vocally and musically perfect, you couldn’t have asked for more from them and from the guitarist’s interaction with the crowd, neither they from us.

A brief respite from switching between the two main stages and we headed over to see what all the fuss over Jagwar Ma was about. The movement, walking up a hill and through crowds after being hungover in the sun took some of the sheen off my improved mood. It was very crowded, even more so than later at Fout Tet’s headlining DJ set, and after only about 15mins and me thinking ‘they’re a bit like a shit Klaxons, and I think the Klaxons are shit’, we were off to get a spot for what would be my highlight of the festival. Haim. After settling on a position I left the comfort of the group and grabbed another drink, then failed to find my way back so befriended a bearded man who was interested in my leg hair and we joked about how my small bottle of wine made me look like a giant. I guess if I wasn’t writing this hungover I could write something witty about ‘perspective’ but I’m hungover, so make one up yourselves. The three sisters were awesome. Sound was ballsy, the beating of the drums whilst not Lykke Li levels of tribal black magic awesome, was intoxicating and breathed new energy into me. The 5 mini steamed pork buns I devoured 30mins prior could also have had something to do it. Having a jam with some good ol’ fashioned rock that felt like an homage to Zepplin half way through the set was an awesome surprise, out of character when sandwiched by tracks from their album. The bassist taking off her top to play in just a bra was also a surprise. There’s probably some reviews writing how it is empowering to women, and others saying it was a sad state of affairs when a girl takes her top off on stage to get people cheering, but it was super hot in the sun, so maybe she just wanted to cool down? Closing with an awesome rendition of ‘The Wire’ and, as with Frightened Rabbit, they were finished too soon. We slunk across to the other stage to ‘get in position’ for CHVRCHES. Who were awesome.

Following on from such an energetic performance by Haim would have been hard for any band, but with two guys stood behind computery techy wizardry and a elfin like lead singer one would say on paper, they’d be screwed. They weren’t. Building on the energy like a steamtrain gathering momentum they worked up the crowd and dare I say had *everybody* dancing? With the sun going down and the music playing, it was a perfect setting to have a bit of a dance and enjoy live renditions of tracks from my favourite album of 2013. They were awesome. Just awesome.

I’ll be honest; my memory of the sequence of events next is a little hazy even when looking at a line up. What I know is this.
• I didn’t really see much of Lorde, she’s not my thing. That ‘Royals’ song annoys me due to forever being associated with that terrible Samsung ad with kids and Lionel Messi. It also makes me think of Reading FC, the ‘Royals’, and knowing I can’t just shoot home and go watch a game at the Majedski makes me sad.
• I ate some delicious sweet potato crisps which had amazing guacamole on, most of which ended up on my face.
• I had a hot dog which was supposed to be ‘chorizo’ flavour (whatever that means) and it was terrible. It upset me, but I should know by now that in general, getting a decent spiced/cured pork product is problematic in Australia.
• Savages were pretty rubbish, but the lead singer did have a nice outfit on. I haven’t got into their album and whilst eating my terrible sausage, I couldn’t get into their live show either.
• We all bailed on Cloud Control. No one else seemed to though. I have some weird relationship with them where I hate them for no other reason than an ex having forced their album ‘Bliss Control’ down my throat, well, ears, years ago. At that moment, I had a strange feeling of anger and/or resentment which coincided with my friends deciding to call it a night. It was obviously not directed at their decision to depart, but it did leave me on my own, feeling contemplative.

The rest isn’t hazy, I decided to grab a drink and check the line up to see who was left to see. Sitting on a bench a couple sat down next to me, we got chatting, they handed me a GumBall Festival flyer and told me it was another awesome Australian festival and we headed off to the Courtyard Stage to catch Unknown Mortal Orchestra.  They were certainly unknown to me, but not for long. They were absolutely killing it when we arrived, and maintained that level of energy throughout the remainder of the set. I was extremely thankful to my newfound friends for making the unknown known to me. It was way past my second wind, maybe my fourth or something, I made a quick decision to depart my newfound friends and go check out Four Tet. I was in the mood to cut up a proverbial rug rather than stay and sway and watch Warpaint. I have tried to get into their albums but aside from ‘Billy Holiday’ things just don’t seem to click for me. After the failure for Savages to connect with me live, I didn’t want the last band to dampen my mood so tried and tested and success(-ed?) Fout Tet was the call I made. It was goooooood, darkness abound around the walls of the Red Bull area complimented with lashings of smoke and flashing lights. I danced away the last hour or so of the festival in a great mood surrounded by likeminded happy drunk people and left with a grin on my face.

As my brain wandered as I meandered through the crowd I thought of lots of things, but mostly what a bloody great day it had been. Then, just as I had a quick moment of panic and disorientation as to where I was and how I would get home, I realised that I had been shepherded into a queue for a free shuttle bus to town. Then followed the easiest decision I had made all day, there was no hesitation of thoughts of crowd sourching (even though I would have a whole bus to ask if I so saw fit to burden them with my question). It was this, yes, I would get a taxi straight back from town, simple. I climbed into a cab on George Street and slid back in the seat, I thoroughly enjoyed the drive back home in a far greater spirit and with a better sense of purpose than when I had departed my house hungover all those hours ago. Home, bed, sleep, worry about tomorrow when I wake up….

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Wed – Olympic Time Trial

With both Armistead and Pooley riding for GB Women, and Froome and Wiggins riding for the men, I looked at the weather on Monday, saw that Wed was going to be ok and managed to get the day off. Olympic fever certainly hit me. Trying to make the most of living in London and having the Olympics. Once in a lifetime and all that.

I’d checked the route, worked out where I could see them go past twice, and thought that it’d be a idea to go and have a ride round Box Hill afterwards to see what all the fuss was about over the weekend.

I was up early, onto my bike at 10am and rode down to Esher and through onto Lammas Lane. Checking the route, I positioned myself on a corner/rounabout following a downhill stretch leading into an uphill where it was a short 2min ride to the other side of the course.

There was a group of Welsh lads, when I say lads, ageing from mid 30′s to their late 60′s who were part of a cycling club and had come for the day to watch the race. It was a lot quieter than I expected, just out of a town centre inside the M25. I thought from the Road Race on Sat/Sun and with school holidays and bright sunshine forcast, it’d be rammed. It wasn’t, and on the other side on Portsmouth Road, it was even quieter, although more stewards as no fencing to keep us back.

The welsh lads were good very friendly, and knowledgeable. One of them had supposedly won bronze in the time trial at the Commenwealth Games back in Wales all those years ago, I have to check that out. Having jokes on someone 30years your senior and an OAP who beats you up every hill still made me feel better about Henry Turgoose smashing me and Alex up the hills this summer down to Woolacombe.

Armistead was first to pass, followed by Pooley. I shot up to Portsmouth road to continue cheering, without an iPhone or anything, was tough to work out who was doing well. Back down to Lammas Lane and I heard that Pooley had got silver, but that was only on finishing. Others came in quicker, so she was out of a medal, but both Pooley and Armistead got top 10.

Onto the mens race, and it seemed the crowd was, surprisingly, less than earlier for the women, even though the spitting rain had stopped and the sun was well and truly out. Froome went flying past, and at our point, just before the 18k marker, seemed to be well up on whoever was in front of him, then the big dog, Tony Martin went past and we knew Wiggins was behind him, from my BB stopwatch, he was up at least 5 seconds on Martin, which was good news. Heading up to Portsmouth Road, and word was that Froome was flying, up 24secs and then Wiggins had gone past 11secs ahead of him. Not sure what to believe after the Pooley getting Silver nonsense earlier, took with pinch of salt, especially knowing cancellara was behind Wiggins, and a strong contender. Froome Zoomed past, then later on Wiggins, who’d made up even more time on Martin, and cancellara seemed excessively far behind.

Jumping on the bike and heading into Esher I was surprised at the support on the route, I must have been at a very quiet point. But all the better, spreading out the support rather than in popular places. Got a great view too! Into Esher and the pubs had people clambering up the walls and people on shoulders with a rammed pub trying to catch a glimpse of the screen to see who could know Froome of his Golden Throne. It was taken first by the German, Tony Martin, then by fellow GB team mate, Sky team mate, and Tour De France Winner Bradley Wiggins. Massive Massive cheers as Wiggins came in first with Froome 3rd as we waited for cancellara to finish, who was well off the pace leaving us with a 1-3 finish which was incredible. People in the street outside the pub, cheering and hugging each other. For cycling! Incredible!

So, with that, a Double Decker eaten, water drank, I headed down to Leatherhead and to Box Hill. Quick stop for a gel before attempting the hill, and I failed at the first hurdle. The road was closed for ‘Olympic work’ so either they’re putting back in the speed humps, or taking down the screens and paraphernalia from the weekends road race. A shame, anyway, not discouraged, I went round the side on rolling roads, some hills I wouldn’t find in East London and then a nice route back on an excellent road, smashing it into Epsom. The through to Richmond Park where realising I was hungry, and in need of liquid thought would stop at the Cafe. It was 6pm, it was shut. I could feel my hunger eating me up, after 57 miles, I needed more than the mornings porridge and lunchtimes ham and cucmber sandwich with hula hoops and a double decker. It was all I could do to smash down another Torq Gel, finish my water and head home running on empty.

71 miles done, the furthest I’ve ridden since Woolacombe trip, a Time Trial watched where we managed to get a 1-3 in the mens and make Bradley Wiggins our most successful Olympian ever.

Bring on tomorrow and the Velodrome, albeit on TV….

Sunday – Womens Road Race

Waking up exceptionally hungover with 3 days boozing in a row I knew Sunday would be a struggle. Heading back from Ross’s to mine, I had to go round Marble Arch. I knew that the Womens Road Race would be heading past Hyde Park Corner and down to the Mall, so thought would go check it out. There was also a fairly sexy chick on a sexy road bike riding that way, so I followed her.

I managed to get a spot where could see the ‘paid for peoples’ big screen which was ok, and hear what was going on. Then along came the Florida Gators, marching band from University of Florida. They were playing Beatles songs, it was alright. But, surprisingly, all the pom pom girls, and baton girls, weren’t very attractive, or had the best of figures. You’d think that for that in America, they’d be the sexy chicks. But I guess they are the one’s who haven’t got into the Cheerleading Squad, and have to find another avenue to do things, so Marching Band it is. It was good, just like in an american film, but what it had to do with the Olympics, or Cycling for that matter, I’ve no idea. Well, that’s a lie, I have no idea now, but at the time I had a thought. The University of Florida’s nickname for their clubs is ‘Gators’ which was what a few people were chanting/shouting ‘Go Gators’ in annoying US accents. Gatorade comes from Florida, and as it sponsors Team Sky and GB Cycling, maybe they had something to do with this, but on emailing the brand manager, no dice. Just a coincidence.

We got moved by the police after watching the screen for nearly an hour, as it was a ‘walkway’ which is nonsense. I locked my bike up, and got myself positioned outside Buckingham Palace next to some Dutch peeps. I spent the next hour on the phone to my parents who relayed information which I increasingly told the crowd as we had no screen, radio or speakers giving us information about the race. Before the race finished, the heavens opened and we were all soaked through. Honestly ridiculous. Soaking wet, but in Gatorade waterproof and LMNH cap, I braved it out. Come 2km out and Lizzie Armistead was still in the breakaway 3 with the Russian and Mariane Voss. As they went past, Armistead was in 3rd with a sprint finish ahead on the final 300m or so. Not sure what happened to my phone, but it went dead, so we found out that the Dutchwoman, Voss, got first from the Dutch crowd across the way, and then from re-connecting with the parents that Armistead got the first Team GB medal of the games, the Silver. An impressive performance and was great to be there for the mens and womens road race, and for us to have got a medal.

Cycled home, ordered curry, ate it, slept, woke up and felt like death. The adrenalin of Olympics had worn off, the food needed digestion and the call of work in the morning was horrible. An early night required.

Saturday – Olympic Road Race

After the late night and fun times of Friday’s opening ceremony, it was an early start and a 10 mile bike ride over to Ross’s to kick off Saturday. Aided by a Gatorade Prime, Torq Gel and halfway over, the realisation I’m still drunk because I stopped drinking at 2am and was back up on my bike at 7:15am, I headed East to West.

Arriving at Ross’s to a bacon roll, in a lovely wholemeal bun and decent bacon, the day was off to a flyer. Quick shower and we headed to Richmond Park then changed to our GO CAV t shirts.

We got quite a lot of people asking for photo’s and with our Look Mum No Hands Union Jack hats as well, were certainly stand outs in a crowd of cycling enthusiasts. A gentleman came over and interviewed us for the Guardian newspaper and were featured on Sunday online here

Then Cav came right past us in the peloton, so close, almost touching distance. We then made a slow exit to a  pub where some other guys who we helped by locking their bikes us to ours got us our first round in. It was certainly going to be a super cider saturday. We watching it on TV where there were boo’s as BBC changed the coverage channel to BBC Three and we got ladies football then cheering when the Cycling was put back on.

After the 7th lap of Box Hill, we ventured back to Richmond Park to see the leading group go past, but had no idea Cancellaro had falled at Richmond Gate corner, and were disappointed to see Cav, Wiggo, Froome and Tannard still 1min off the leading pack with little hope of a medal.

Back to the pub as quick as possible from the park where I got shouted at ‘the race is the other way’. How witty. There was a TV outside that we saw the Kazak from Team Sky nab the gold and then headed back to Ross’s. Great day out, but a disappointing result

Friday – Olympic Opening Ceremony

When we were round Lammy’s for poker a while ago, I realised that he had an excellent view of the Olympic Stadium and site, so when looking for a place to watch the Fireworks for the opening ceremony, what better place than a 9th floor flat with a view like that? I was pretty stoked that he was planning on having people round for the ceremony. But that was later on in the evening.

I went for a 20mile ride in the evening, and headed back through Leyton and found it exceptionally quiet, really quiet. Especially for a Friday. Then tried to go along the canal, but it was shut. It was annoying, but seems that the shut canal has caused other fatal problems, with tragic news on Wed that a cyclist was killed in an accident with an Olympic bus.

I headed over to the pub to have a pint with Lammy, Will, Dene and Eliza before heading to Henry’s next door for the start of the ceremony. Proper great levels of enthusiasm and enjoyment from everyone, we thought the opening ceremony would be shit, but it was anything but.

With the break, well, walking out of the teams, and knowing Team GB would be last, I headed over to Lammy’s and managed to get in the door as someone who was going to another Olympic party let me in, and we crammed into a lift with my bike and some patriotically dressed people partying down a few floors below.

Seeing the NHS nurse dancers and one flash us, and then the Ziggy Stardust one’s bust out their dance routine on the Homerton Station platform to the whoops and cheers of the entire block of FPT was special.

Then the fireworks which were great and some fantastic shots of the london skyline on my camera then home as had an early start on Saturday. Home, at like, 2am.

Marathon Thanks

When people who’ve ran a marathon tell you that it consumes your life, you don’t really appreciate how true that actually is. With the London Marathon being this Sunday, and after running over 300 miles since Jan in training, I’m looking forward to not having to think ‘when can I get my runs in this week?’ and being able to go out drinking of a Saturday night and have a lie in on Sunday, rather than stay sober and get up to pound the pavements.

While this is going to be great, unfortunately I’m not going to have the pay off of finishing the London Marathon, or even starting it.

On my last long training run I injured myself on the final mile, experiencing shooting pains up my left leg. My self diagnosis whilst at home on the internet was Achilles Tendinitis, and a trip to A&E, my favourite way to spend Easter Sunday, confirmed it.

I’ve been resting up since then, barely leaving the house and using crutches to get about, but there just hasn’t been enough time for my tendon to recover, let alone allow me time to build it’s strength back up. A trip to the doctors on Tuesday pretty much shot down any hope I had of running as I was advised I could do myself irreversible long term damage, and the final nail in the coffin was yesterday, when I was unable to walk half a mile without hobbling or being in pain.

You may ask “what about my sponsorship if you’re not even running the marathon?” and it’d be a valid question. I’m in contact with Shelter and we’re looking into other Marathon’s that they have places in which I could run later in the year. If that doesn’t come to fruition, then I’m also looking at other UK Marathons which I can run, as my plan, which hasn’t changed, is to run a Marathon before I hit the big 3 0 next January. So don’t fret, you sponsored me, and I’m going to run a marathon before the year is out.

This email’s not just to let you know I’m not running, but also to say thank you. There’s little doubt that training has consumed my life, and has been most of what I talk about on a daily basis that’s not work related. Thanks for putting up with my boring talk of distances, times and pace. To the people who’s birthdays and celebratory drinks I’ve missed as have had to get up early the next day to go running, thanks for being understanding. Thanks for all your sponsorship, I don’t think I ever expected such a great response from my friends and colleagues and thanks for the support I’ve received over the past few months and the training and race day advice I’ve got from certain people.

Finally, I guess I’d like to apologise, because, I’m going to have to go through this all again later in the year, but I promise to try and talk about it a little less.

Cheers

Keith

I’d laugh if I could, as the last post I had up here was the one bemoaning my first batch of tendinitis back at the end of Jan, and now there’s this one, saying I’ve got it ever worse. FFS.

Fucking Tendinitis

I’ve been pretty fucking useless with marathon running updates, which, really, is no surprise. My runs had been getting longer and instead of coming home after a 3 or 4 mile run and being able to sit down, write a little, reflect and then stretch and shower, they’ve turned into 7-9 mile runs, in the cold, where I really need to stretch as soon as I get home, and re-hydrate, and wash my face from the dried on sweat which has calcified to my eyebrows and beard.

All was going exceptionally well, after a curry and a few beers round Henry’s in Kensal Rise the weekend before last, we set out for a 9 mile run around Hampstead Heath. It was excessively hilly, and I thought nothing of it. The previous Thursday I had embarked on a 5 mile run doing interval training, and I’d been told by Tom Cheeseman that ‘You can run faster than you think’ so I really pushed myself. It hurt.
After these two runs, I was feeling good, speed was good, pace was fine, I managed hills after 9 miles, and my new trainers were going ok. Then it hit me. a bit of pain in my foot. Shit.

The pain subsided, I assumed that it was some bruise and I was ok. The on monday, out in the Cotsworld’s with work, I went for a 8 mile run. It was hilly, one massive uphill and one massive downhill. When I got back to the hotel, my foot was in a large amount of pain. I didn’t exactly ignore it, but put a elasticated bandage round it, the tubey type, and the rest of the week, didn’t dare run.
Hmm, hospital on Friday morning, got told it was Tendinitus, then went to get a proper ankle support, compression socks, went online and bought KT tape which arrived today and have been icing and ibuprofening since. Didn’t leave the house from Friday afternoon till Monday evening. Dedication to getting better.

So now it’s Tuesday. I’m taped up, and walking in bare foot, which isn’t advised, it’s actually advised against, I seem to be ok, but putting a shoe on and walking, I get some pain. I can only assume it’s from swelling and tissue damage, but not sure. It’s been well over a week and not entirely sure how much better my foot actually is. I keep thinking it’s ok, but then again, pains a difficult thing to process over a lenthy time period.

So, certainly no running today, that makes it 8 days off running, which, with just over 11 week to the marathon, has me worries, and resigned to the fact I won’t be able to hit my ‘dream’ time. Darn it. It’s probably all my own fault, but, it’s something new for me, I’ve never had this problem before. I could blame my new trainers, but think more likely to be getting older and body isn’t in the shape it was as a teenager. The bastards don’t know how lucky they have it. Hey, at least I’m not Jack Wilshere. Actually, I’d like the money.

So, tonight, swim time, down in York Hall, hopefully the KT Tape will stay on, as it’s expensive stuff, but I’ve got ten strips woth of use, at about 1.20 per use, so not that expensive I guess. Might but some more come payday on Friday.
Yeah, swim, get some movement, get some CV work and then if feels ok, might go again tomorrow, dependent on when I get back, and how it goes, if not, then Thursday will be a bike ride or a swim. Not sure which yet. If all is ok then think a bike ride on Fri up in Leeds, a weekend on the beers and then a very very slow run on Monday night, a full 14 days after my last one, which is such a fucking pain.

Saturday Run

After the dental work earlier in the week, I’ve been on antibiotics. Amoxicilyn I believe. Anyway, I checked the internet and found that yes, I could drink on them, so Friday night had 3 pints.

This seemed like it could have been a bad idea, what with wanting to get a 7 mile run in this weekend, but it was actually ok.

I awoke late, had some chicken soup and got my shit together. I am not eating soup before going for a run again, didn’t do me any favours for the first few miles. I ran along Morning Lane, Graham Road, Balls Pond Road and then down Essex Road to Angel. It was surprisingly a bit of an uphill struggle heading towards Upper Street, but the downhill towards Old Street and simple home stretch through Shoreditch I think i turned a good pace. The total time for the 7 mile run was 57mins 30secs. Rather impressed with it. On the whole, it was a faster run than the 6 mile run on Monday evening which was 50mins. I can only wonder how much faster I’d have been with more sleep, no booze and a better food input before heading out! Checking the pace, it was fairly steady, and unlike Mondays run where i started quick and went very slow in the middle, a steady pace today was a bit of a big confidence boost.

I think that without any drinking tonight and spending it at home, I’ll go for another run tomorrow, maybe 4 miles then take a rest on Monday. I have enjoyed running in the daylight today, just feels a bit better than night and after work, plus Mon could be a bitch with Turbo Tango work to do!

Keep on running

I’m really going to quickly lose any kind interest in the titles of these posts. already, I am bored.

This week so far has been a mixed week of marathon training and such.

After surprising myself on my ability to run on a Sunday after a big friday night out and finding out that the Victoria Park loop i do is in fact half a mile longer than I thought, I decided that Monday was ‘big run night’. Lets put this into context though, in a few months time ‘big run night’ will be up into double figures and beyond, but this Monday it was a 6 mile run around Hackney.
I’d originally thought, whilst looking at google maps at work, that I’d get a train out to Gospel Oak and run back home, but by the time I’d got home from work and feeling tired in the car the thought of a 20min train journey before a run didn’t seem like the best of ideas. I began from home running down to Mile End, along towards Bethnal Green and Whitechapel, up towards Dalston on Queensbridge Road and back home. I was exceptionnaly impressed with myself again for two reasons.
1) My filling, on my cracked tooth fell out into my mouth just past Mile End, so i pocketed it and carried on with a hollow tooth for the rest of the run
2) I made it through the 6 miles in 50minutes. Quite a bit ahead of my time for 7 miles and hour.

I think this has spurred me on to get involved with a 7 mile run over the weekend and do it in under an hour.

Probably the best thing was that on tuesday when I woke up, I didn’t have a running hangover, with tired legs and such, I felt fine. Stretching and being fitter must be helping!

On tue i had my root canal work done, and hopped up on codine, I wasn’t going anywhere.

Wed though, even though had got up around 6am and been in meetings i Harefield with Musgraves all day, I got home, and made it through a 3 mile run in 24 mins.

I think this is the point though, this week is the last week that 3 mile runs are acceptable, the minimum from now has to be moved up to 4 miles. I can get through them in just over 30mins, so it’s not a time issue any more. I also need to begin trying that ‘fartlek’ training, with the jogging and sprinting thing, not sure about starting with 5mins on 5 mins off seems like quite a while, so might try 2 min bursts and build it up from there.

I guess I also need some kind of pictures, but when its cold and my iPhone is in my pocket and it’s dark and the photo quality is rubbish and i’m keeping to time i don’t exactly want to stop and take photo’s.

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